The paintings of Charles Billich have hung everywhere from the White House to Hugh Hefner’s home, and the critical response to his work is just as varied, with some comparing him to Salvador Dalí while others slam his art as kitsch.

A constant, however, is the influence of dance in the 78-year-old’s work (once a ballet student in the former Yugoslavia, he fled his home in the 1950s). He heads to Beijing later this month to paint the principals of Beijing’s ballet and opera—a city he is well acquainted with, after his “Beijing Millenium Cityscape” helped China win its bid to host the 2008 Olympics.

Mr. Billich spoke with The Wall Street Journal about painting kings, his short-lived journalism career and why he, a former political prisoner, still feels drawn to China. Edited excerpts follow.

Billich Art Gallery

A cityscape by Mr. Billich, ‘Monumental Washington,’ hangs in the White House.

The Wall Street Journal: You have a special relationship with China, starting with your involvement in the Olympic bid. Until recently you had a home in Beijing. What draws you to the country?

Mr. Billich: The Chinese industrial influence has been with us forever, the cultural and artistic influence on the West. That is why I am interested in going back to the origin of things. China is a perpetual source of research and inspiration. There’s a mutual respect and a mutual symbiosis between the Chinese and I.

How did you get tapped for the Beijing Olympics job?

Prior to the [2000] Sydney games, I was engaged to help with the visual and artistic side of the bidding and was active during the Sydney Olympics as official artist. The Chinese Olympic Committee decided I was a useful device for obtaining Olympics so asked me to cooperate and help.

You tried to escape a communist regime in Yugoslavia when you were 18 but were caught and sentenced to 10 years in prison. Having experienced a repressive regime firsthand in your youth, you have in your adult life found yourself working in China, where many worry human-rights abuses still occur. Is that past something you wrestle with, or have you somehow made peace?

Reforms are taking place in China and despite our frustrations with the pace of change, it’s happening. I first went to China in 1996 on the invitation of the Chinese Artists Association and have witnessed so much change since. We must not forget that world communism was created by the Western powers, so it would be cynical for us to turn our backs to the problems we have indirectly generated. We must now mea culpa and assist in the dismantling of that system.

How did you go from being a student dancer to a visual artist?

I started out as a folkloristic dancer, and then the opera sent some scouts around. I was picked, together with a couple of my mates. We were a fantastic trio—it was so much fun being guests of this ballet company for a limited time. But I never could fulfill my aspirations of becoming a great solo dancer. In retrospect, I’m happy my career was terminated when it was. I don’t think I ever would have made it to the great vertigo heights of ballet. I physically don’t think I had it in me. It’s a one in 10 million thing. But it remained in my blood. In my fantasies I see myself as a choreographer, producer, director, you name it.

So your upcoming trip to China is in a way revisiting that past?

It’s linking the past with the present and with another civilization, another culture, another tradition, another set of images. In one way you could argue that there’s very little relevance between Western dance and traditional Chinese dance, and yet there is. They’re both into storytelling, exhibiting emotions.

Billich Art Gallery

The artist in his Sydney gallery.

You also worked briefly as a journalist.

In my misspent youth. I had my own magazine. I was 17. But I got into ideological problems in a repressive political regime. I had to pay the price. I love writing, and I have written a few scripts, but there are not enough hours in the day to produce movies as well.

You sometimes paint subjects posthumously, for example, in your painting of the recently sainted Mary MacKillop, which hangs in the Vatican. How do you capture their likeness when a live sitting is no longer possible?

You look at as much archival material as you can and then you make your own mind up about how you use that material. What are you going to add or subtract? You want to tell a story. In a way, I like religious painting or any painting that is relevant to the past, because there’s no record. I painted a king not so long ago, part of Croatian folklore from the 1300s. Not only were there no photographs of him, but there were not even paintings. The first painting done of this king was not during his lifetime, but 100 years after his death. It made me conclude that to paint this king, I couldn’t rely on this paltry reference, I had to use intuition or fantasy.

An Australian critic once described your work as kitsch. Others have likened it to Dalí. How do you respond to your detractors?

In the ultimate analysis most art has kitsch undertones. I have been called worse, like set designer, illustrator. Without being philosophical, kitsch is, in the main, positive, and all artists have been guilty. Yes, my work tends to be at times too rich and enigmatic—God forbid, thought-provoking—in content, but my story lines are complex, disturbing and different.